


Monster Ego

by KKGlinka



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KKGlinka/pseuds/KKGlinka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myka has a hairy day at the office and HG is ever adaptable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monster Ego

Sometimes a ping came and there was no time to argue, bicker or question due to a narrow window of opportunity. For instance, the day several pings occurred in tight concentration within the Chicago warehouse district. It didn't take Pete's vibes or training to know that organized crime was involved which put this case in the seriously hairy category. 

"Y'know, Artie, I get this is a rush job but mob jobs usually require back-up, long term planning, swat teams-" 

"Pete, we don't have time." 

"Can't we wait until after they're sold off? Sure, it'll take more time once the artifacts are separated but it'll be a heck of a lot safer," Myka questioned. 

"No, it won't be," Artie snapped, beginning to look aggrieved. 

"Artie?" she prompted. 

"Arguing, bickering, questions! What is wrong with you people?" Artie flapped his arms out in a gesture meant to be intimidating but they were all too used to it to do anything but keep looking at him anxiously. He sighed. "The pieces are being billed as specialized weapons, some very powerful weapons." 

"So," Pete began, "you're ordering us to infiltrate an organized crime scene and snag super dangerous artifacts and you don't understand why we're still sitting here stalling? Where's Steve?" 

"Visiting his mother," Myka explained in one breath before adding, "What he said," to Artie. 

"Yes, I am," Artie answered firmly. "If you don't go now a certain petri dish from the Mayo Clinic, the Villeneuve Manuscript and Mercury Theater's War of the Worlds might fall off the grid and wind up in very bad hands." 

"Wait," Myka brightened. "The original Orson Welles copy? I thought Spielberg got ahold of that." 

Artie smiled wryly. "He does. This is the reel. Don't play it," he warned. "It caused national panic and outrage back in 1938, with an audience of a few million. Just imagine what it could do streaming through the internet." 

"Oh," Myka and Pete said in unison. 

"What about the other two?" 

"It's in the case folders!" Artie shouted in exasperation. "What part of you need to be on planes now am I failing to communicate?" 

"What's that about my book?" HG asked disingenuously, poking her head around the door leading to the catwalk. How she managed to look elegant while wearing a leather smock, flannel shirt and goggles pushed up through her hair was beyond Pete. 

Artie closed his eyes in very obvious dismay. "Aren't you supposed to be down in your shop? Not destroying the world with crazy inventions?" 

"I wanted tea." 

"And not eavesdropping," he emphasized. 

"I was trying to let you do your job in peace," she sniffed. "I'm perfectly well aware of how you dislike me breathing down your neck, as you phrase it. Now, what's this about my book and a play? Was it better than the movies?" 

"We really don't have time." 

"Now, please." HG smiled placidly. 

"An actor and narrator named Orson Welles adapted War of the Worlds into a radio play for CBS disguised as a series of news reports detailing the alien invasion of New Jersey. Between the growing anxieties about imminent German invasions and how the play was timed against a rival broadcast, most people missed that it was fiction, confused the facts and panicked." 

HG seemed nonplussed. "They fell for it?" 

"At least a million people, maybe more. A regional blackout compounded the panic, phone lines were jammed, some people even fled their homes. Fortunately, radio was still new and their broadcast range limited." 

HG's lips twitched. It turned into a smile. That turned into a jaw cracking grin. Then she pranced in place a tiny bit. "You mean, I created a weapon of mass destruction?" 

"Technically, Orson Welles did," Artie said with exaggerated patience. 

"To think, I could have simply-" 

"Oh my god, Helena," Myka burst out. "That's not funny. How can you even joke about that?" 

"The irony is inescapable, darling." 

"There is something seriously wrong with you," Myka muttered. 

"Slander, on the other hand, is never acceptable." HG kept a perfectly straight face, going from gloating cackles to excruciatingly sober in less time than it took Pete to blink. She stared down Myka. 

Myka dropped her gaze, jaw working as she swallowed whatever she desperately wanted to say. She avoided responding for too long to be polite, hands on her hips, before she rubbed the back of her neck. "Sorry. That was insensitive." She almost sounded sincere. 

HG smiled smugly. 

Myka flashed a quick glare concealed by her motions as she turned to pick up her case folder. 

Pete wrinkled his brow at Artie, who looked back in studied, oblivious innocence as if he'd missed the entire exchange. Pete pursed his lips, unsurprised by the lack of enlightenment. Whatever was going on, it seemed that HG had Myka under her thumb, in more ways than one if his vibes had anything to say about it. He reached for his case folder, deciding he could pester HG about it later. 

She snatched the folder out from under his hand. He went to hover behind Myka, reading over her shoulder as she flipped through the pages. When she noticed, she slowed down to give him time to catch up because she was considerate like that. 

He wrinkled his nose. "We're gonna need at least some grenades for this one, Artie." 

"I concur," HG said, slapping 'her' folder closed. "Let's go arm ourselves." 

Myka's head snapped up as she glowered. "You can't...." 

HG met her gaze, smiling thinly. 

Pete raised his eyebrows and quickly turned away. His vibes had nothing to say about the battle of wills that kept cropping up between the two women, but he wasn't getting in their way. He grabbed his jacket off the coat rack and escaped through the umbilicus door. Myka could bring whatever she thought they needed. 

Myka drove with fixed determination and turned their lights on twice to dissuade patrol vehicles that pulled out to give chase. Turned out, they really hadn't the time for all that bickering back at the office. HG was on the phone the entire way to the airport pulling a Regent magic trick. By the time they got on the plane, she'd set herself up as a prospective buyer for the reel. 

She took the window seat and he took the aisle because no way was he sitting between those two. That left Myka trapped neatly between them. He pretended not to notice when HG slid a possessive hand around Myka's thigh. He couldn't resist sneaking a peak to check her response though. 

Myka was looking straight ahead, eyes narrow and could swear they'd gone a brighter green. Or, as he thought of it, her pissed as hell green. Murky green was safe. Brownish green meant she was practically asleep. Right this moment, her eyes were definitely 'nope' green, according to Claudia, but she didn't raise a finger to dislodge Helena's hand. Considering how bossy she always was with him, it was weird. Really weird. He decided to flirt with the stewardess, even if it was a steward. It was safer. 

* * *

They waited while HG strolled into the warehouse cool as a whistle, then hustled to a rear entrance and dropped a solo guard. They held position, listening through their earbuds as HG drew out the seller, then ducked in, tesla rifles drawn. The light was a major risk, but bullets would make noise while a single charge could take down multiple opponents in a close spread. It was a decent trade. 

There were two guards in the stock area concealed behind a stack of crates and abandoned heavy machinery. He and Myka split up, synched taking down their respective targets in near identical manner, hand over mouth, tranq to the neck. She had more trouble with her target's weight and he waited until she signaled the okay. They double-checked the area but no one else had arrived. He took guard while she searched. She had better eyes and memory. 

HG was running out of time. The seller wanted to bring out the merchandise rather than linger over small talk and risk drawing unwanted attention. She would have the money ready, if that happened, but they were supposed to bring that back. Their budget didn't cover the expense and it would come out of their paychecks for the next year if they flubbed it. 

He glanced over his shoulder, willing Myka to hurry because he was getting a serious vibe. She was checking boxes quickly and it wouldn't do any good to harass her. He readied two tesla grenades, hiding the telltale glow beneath his jacket. 

"C'mon, Mykes," he urged softly. 

She jogged up beside him, a folio snagged awkwardly in one hand as she held open her trench coat to stuff a reel and small box inside pockets."Got'em. Let's go." 

Just as he returned his attention to his earbud, two things happened. First, he heard raised voices and HG's placating responses. Second, Myka keeled over, gasping in pain. His training kept him in action and he ducked behind some empty fifty gallon barrels, knowing there was little point in searched for a sniper in the shadows. He cursed Artie and the Regents and the lack of back-up. 

Myka was curled into a fetal position but he could hear her breathing, deep and ragged, not shallow. Her rifle was slung over her shoulder and she had her service weapon. He couldn't see a spreading pool of blood so it couldn't be too serious. He hoped. Myka was a pro. She could take it. They had to snag the artifacts or else a lot of people could die. 

He touched her on the arm, giving what he hoped was a reassuring and not painful squeeze. Then he swung out and rolled the tesla grenades toward the two largest groups he identified in his peripheral vision. He had his rifle back up as the balls rolled. He took a deep breath and exhaled. 

The seller hand HG at gunpoint, pressed against him as a shield. She was calm as the man screamed threats and promises of retribution following the pyrotechnics show. 

"Look, man, we're not the feds! We're not here for you! Calm down and let the lady go!" 

"You think I'm a fucking idiot? You must, thinking I'd fall for the last minute buyer routine!" 

Pete saw the man's hand flex as HG backed along with him, the more serene hostage he'd ever seen. He prepared to take the shot. It would get both of them, which wasn't a problem. The risk was the gunman's hand twitching under the shock. HG wouldn't be able to do any of her fancy kenpo and dodge that bullet. He took another breath, vibes screaming warning. 

That was when an inhuman roar drowned out the seller's threats and a massive form sailed over the crates to and in the midst of the tableau. 

Pete jerked his aim at the monster, a more sensible response than the seller who screamed. And screamed. And screamed. The caterwauling was cut off in a grunt which meant HG had gotten sick and tired of the hysterics. 

All of that was drowned out by another roar and then the seller was tossed like a rag doll to land wetly on the concrete floor over twenty feet away. 

Pete took the shot and he waited an agonized moment as the monster teetered in place. He urged his rifle to re-prime as it wobbled, then gradually crumpled down into a dark brown furry heap. He covered this new target and trotted over to check on HG. She waved him off, pointing at the seller. He tossed his rifle to her and went. 

The man was very shredded and very dead. He grimaced and shook his head at HG, then took off at a run back to check on Myka, but when he got there, she was missing. There was no blood. At that point, a normal person who hadn't worked for the Warehouse for over three years might have assumed she had moved. Indeed, Pete assumed she had, but not the same way a normal person who have. He walked reluctantly back to HG. 

She was hunched over with the rifle braced against her knee, peering intently at the fallen monster thing that he really really hoped wasn't Myka. It was wearing the remains of her trench so it was probably her and that made it a she not an it. It was hard to tell, but she sort of looked like a lion crossed with a wolf, crossed with a gargoyle, crossed with whatever had mean looking tusks. Warthogs had tusks, right? Only she probably wouldn't like the comparison. 

He groaned and raked his fingers through his hair. "Oh man, she's gonna kill me." 

"Why? Did you do this?" HG asked, straightening to raise an eyebrow at him. 

"No?" 

"Agent Lattimer," she said, in that tone of voice. 

"I didn't touch any artifacty things; she did and they're in her coat. I mean, what's left of it." 

"She was wearing her gloves?" 

"She's Myka. Of course she was wearing her gloves. She was probably wearing gloves under her gloves." 

HG gave him that look from under lowered eyebrows, so he shut up, for about five seconds. "We should get outta here before they wake up," he said, waving his arm to encompass the fallen goons. 

She sighed, which meant she agreed, but then she just had to point out the obvious. "We're going to have trouble moving her." 

He opened his mouth. 

"Oh well, I could jimmy up a block and tackle if we can find some cord." 

He closed his mouth and pointed. 

The tufted tip of Myka's tail twitched, once, twice and then a ripple passed up her spine, brown fur shifting as she went from limp to tense and aware. 

HG skipped several steps back, raising the rifle and sighting. 

He pulled out his regular tesla, screwed up his face at it, shrugged and pointed it, too. 

Myka stood on two hind legs in one fluid motion, shook like a wet dog, looked around and then her pointy ears flattened. She growled and it was a really impressive growl, deep and throaty and oh god he hoped he wasn't going to pee his pants. There was no way his puny tesla gun wasn't going to stop that and he totally should have picked up her rifle before he came back here. 

"Myka? Is that you? Can you understand me?" 

Myka swiveled her head in HG's direction and snorted. 

Pete reminded himself not to say the word 'warthog'. 

Myka dropped to all fours and stalked toward HG who, being the excessively confident bastard she was, didn't speed up. She was chuffing now, a sound Pete remembered the big cats making back from that time they had to find an artifact at a zoo. As he recalled, it wasn't a good sound. 

HG chuckled. "My, what big teeth you have." 

There was a blur of motion as Myka slapped the rifle out of HG's hands causing the woman to issue some unladylike curses. Pete wasn't too surprised since she wasn't much of a lady. The surprise was when Myka sat down, curling her tail around her feet like an overgrown house cat, even if she didn't really look like a cat upon closer inspection. Her snout was too long and narrow, more dog than cat. 

HG frowned, rubbing her hands and wrists. "You could have asked," she groused. 

Myka chuffed once for emphasis. 

"Ah, you did." HG nodded in comprehension. "Bit of a language barrier there." 

"Uh, Mykes? Um, I guess you're kinda pissed about being all frankenbeast, but we need to get outta here before everyone wakes up and please tell me you didn't smush the artifacts." He came around to face her as he spoke and watched as her ears swiveled to follow his motions. 

She looked down at herself and he managed not to laugh when her head scrunched down between her shoulder blades and tail wrapped straight around one of her front paw hand things. She picked at the remains of her trench coat, but claws weren't made for finesse and the fabric gave its last dying breath and fell off. She sighed which, except for being loud and deep, was the most human sound she'd made in the past five minutes. 

HG crouched, sorting through the tatters. She set aside the small box containing the petri dish then held the reel aloft. "Hah! My book!" 

"Orson Welles' radio play," he corrected. 

"Whatever. Where's the manuscript?" 

He snapped his fingers. "She was holding it when she fell down." 

"Don't read it! Don't look at it!" she bellowed after him in case he was deaf. 

He rolled his eyes, going around the corner and spotted the manuscript laying right where Myka had left it before going all cujo on everyone. Still, it was good advice, so he avoided looking directly at it and picked it up with a glove from his pocket. He scooped up Myka's rifle, holstered service weapon, wallet, keys and prized badge while he was at it. The mess of shredded clothing could stay. Once had had everything jammed into his own pockets or slung over a shoulder, he delivered the manuscript to HG. 

She didn't look at it, rolling it up and jamming it into a pocket. "Let's be on our way." 

He hung back as HG took the lead, walking beside Myka's head and shoulders. "If it makes you feel any better, you're totally covered in fur." 

She laid her ears and whiskers back and refused to look at him. 

When HG dropped the manuscript in a neutralizer bag, it sizzled and popped and Myka didn't change. They realized their next problem once they reached the rented SUV, but after some bickering, they lowered the back seats, pulled the front seats forward and Myka proved that cats really could squeeze into anything through which their heads could fit. Even if she wasn't much of a cat except for the world's most awesome mane. 

It took twelve hours to reach the Warehouse because Myka could only stay curled up in a giant ball for so long before they had to find somewhere she could stretch out without being seen and eat a gross amount of food. He was way too much of a gentleman to ask about her bathroom breaks. As a bonus, HG behaved and limited herself to giving other drivers the fingers to three times. That was a major record for her. 

Myka slunk out of the SUV issues a series of pathetic whines and grumbles, head slung low as some cows ran off lowing in terror. She bared her teeth at them and snarled. 

HG patted her on the head, the sunk her hands into the pain offering a scratch on the neck. "There there, now, don't sulk. I'm sure we'll have this sorted before long." 

Pete held his breath thinking that any moment Myka would snap HG in half, but she tilted her head sideways with a sigh. 

They decided not to risk Myka crushing any of the umbilical bombs and left her outside, lashing her tail and pacing. 

Artie looked between him and HG, then asked, doing a remarkable impression of a worried father, "Where's Myka?" 

"Outside," answered HG before pulling out drawers, searching. 

Artie looked at him. 

"She couldn't fit safely through the umbilicus." 

Claudia appeared out of thin air. "Ohmygod there's a giant monster thing outside and I think it's Myka!" 

"Yeah," he said, yawning from the long drive home. "She's pretty pissed." 

"Wow," she breathed out in awe. "That is so cool. Except not, I guess." 

Artie gave her his patented 'are you crazy?' look and she shrugged. Then he glared at Pete. "Explain." 

"It's not his fault," interrupted HG, now wearing a pair of purple goggles and skimming over the manuscript. She flipped to the last couple of pages and grimaced, nodding. "As I thought." 

Artie crossed his arms and Pete decided to imitate him. Claudia looked at them and crossed her arms too. They all looked expectantly at HG. 

"Are you all familiar with 'Beauty and the Beast'?" 

"Dude, who hasn't seen that movie?" 

"Or the TV series? Linda Hamilton," Pete added with an appreciative fake growl. 

HG stared at them blankly. 

"Oh, you mean like the story in general? Sure. Every kid knows that one. Belle gets held hostage by the Beast until true love breaks the curse. Why?" 

She held up the manuscript. "This is the version written by Madame Gabrielle de Villeneuve in 1740. There's no title page so Myka likely read a portion to ascertain its identity and...." She waved a hand toward the exit. "It's a bit different from the children's version." 

He'd been wondering why Myka was still stuck in beast form. He was no expert but even if Myka and HG weren't sleeping together, they were best buds. He thought about it some more. Pete didn't want to be thinking what he was thinking. He asked hopefully, "Someone gets eaten at the end of it?" 

"No." 

Artie fidgeted, then clapped his hands together. "Well, uh." He cleared his throat. 

"Oh man," said Pete. 

"Ew," said Claudia. "They had furries back then?" 

It was HG's turn to stare blankly, for a few seconds. "Oh, is that what you call it these days?" 

"Unless you mean with real animals. That's still bestiality." 

"Then what's a furry?" 

"Well, mostly they dress up in fuzzy animal costumes and, y'know." Claudia turned an alarming shade of pink that clashed with her hair. 

"Ah, well, it's always good to know the correct word for a given occasion. Though it's difficult to say which applies in this circumstance. Regardless, true love still breaks the curse but in a far more explicit manner." 

Pete gave up on being shocked. HG sounded so unperturbed by the entire subject while Claudia was squirming awkwardly and Artie was definitely blushing (and had abandoned the conversation to hide behind his computer). It was too late to plug his ears but he was super glad he couldn't read french. 

"Righty ho. Let's go break the news to her, shall we?" 

Claudia beat them to it, recounting their discoveries as Myka sat patiently listening. When she spotted them, she padded straight to HG and raised a finger to point at the manuscript. She chuffed. 

HG frowned in puzzlement, holding up the offending document. "This?" 

Myka extended a claw, her intent obvious, and HG snatched it back behind her back. "You bloody well won't! This is the original!" 

Pete scratched his forehead. "She's gotta point. Maybe destroying it would work." 

"And if it doesn't, we won't have the artifact to work from. Had you considered that?" She drew herself up primly, hands holding the manuscript behind her back. "No, that shall be our last resort." 

He scrunched up his face. "Really?" 

"What?" She was scratching Myka behind the ears again. 

He pointed at her, backing away and mouthed the word 'furry'. 

HG looked back mildly as if she found his behavior wholly unwarranted and shrugged glibly. 

He looked at Claudia for support but she pulled a face and disappeared. "Oh, real mature. Some Caretaker you are." 

Myka was looking at him, all freakishly bright green eyes and quivering whiskers. When he didn't offer anything helpful, she turned her attention back to HG who was rocking back and forth on her heels. 

"So, shall we do this here or at Leena's?" 

Myka cocked her ears in different directions and back again, then lolled her head over to one side. She didn't get it and he felt horribly sorry for her. He tried feeling sorry for HG, but she was going into it voluntarily. 

He stayed long enough to watch her whisper something in Myka's ear which caused her to rear back as if struck, then freeze frame with one front leg curled in the air, mouth open and ears pricked forward. She made a noise so reminiscent of scooby doo that he covered his mouth to squelch a squack of laughter, but there was no way she was missing the noise with those ears. 

Myka swung around balefully, lowering her head and shoulders in the process and he knew he'd be forever indebted to HG because she took the opportunity to swing up onto Myka's back. It served to shock Myka into ceasing her advance as she staggered sideways under the unexpected weight of a rider. 

HG held up her arms in triumph as Myka tried to crane her head around enough to glare and failed. Apparently there was no owl in the mix. She gave a warning shake of her shoulders but HG only set her lower legs firmly and took fistfuls of mane while grinning like a madwoman. She leaned over to whisper something else in Myka's ear, then sat up. 

"We're heading to Leena's! See you there!" 

He opened his mouth to argue that someone might see them and people around here had guns and what the hell were they supposed to say if someone reported a woman riding a giant lion, anyway? But Myka bounded out of range and took off at a ground eating lope so it didn't matter. 

Ultimately, they all wound up in the B&B living room, lights out, listening to a safe copy of Orson Welles' War of the Worlds. HG was sitting on one end of the couch looking perfectly composed despite the ginger way she'd sat down. Myka was stretched out with her head in HG's lap, passed out cold. Everyone else was masterfully not staring at the two.


End file.
